The Nightingale's Opera
by Julibee-Darling
Summary: A largely-canon retelling of ME2 for romantically-minded fans. John Shepard has been resurrected from death and called to rally a team of ass-kickers to save humanity from the Collectors. John Shep/Miranda, Garrus/OC, some Kasumi/Jacob.
1. The Dossier

_AUTHOR'S NOTES_

Hey everybody! My God, it's been so many years since I last wrote fanfiction. I honestly thought I was done with it, having obtained a degree in Creative Writing at college and finished a science-fiction adventure novel. Then a series of wildly coincidental events led me to play Mass Effect 2…and the desire to write something preconceived came rushing back.

I haven't played the first Mass Effect. I know, I know, shame on me! But I'm still accustoming myself to the universe, so I hope that any flaws will be forgiven. Honestly right now it feels so good to write something that comes so easily, I hope that the enthusiasm of a rediscovered muse overpowers whatever flaws are present.

This fanfic does contain an original character added on to the Normandy's ragtag team of ass kickers…which will probably frighten a few readers off. But to the ones that stick around, know that I tried my very best to fit her in as seamlessly as possible—I can promise that most of this most-beloved space opera will remain canon-correct. It's also is primarily geared for romantic-minded ladies…I'll at least be upfront about that. And you guys will have to help me decide who John Shepard ends up with…for now, I'm doing my best to leave it open. Which ME lady does the Commander go best with?

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><p><em>~ Tasale - Normandy SR-2 ~ <em>

"Commander, just letting you know we've arrived in the Crescent Nebula, and it'll be an hour before we hit Illium."

Startling out of a doze, Commander John Shepard glanced around his dimly-lit quarters in search of the voice. Realizing that it had been Joker over the radio, Shepard pulled his booted feet from his desk and touched the glowing communication button on the computer console.

"Thanks, Joker. Go ahead and put us right in Nos Astra."

Shepard rubbed his eyes and fell back in his chair. The bone-deep exhaustion of long, high-risk missions was beginning to take hold of him. Too soon, considering there were still five more dossiers to investigate and whatever strings they came with—all before going through the Omega-4 relay to deal with the Collectors and whatever else they found on the other side.

He touched his left cheek and temple, feeling the deep, warm crevices imprinted in his skin. The extensive scarring the Lazarus project had left didn't bother him as much as the fact that Cerberus had literally brought him back from the dead. These days Shepard hated to be alone—his thoughts had a tendency to catch up with him, especially ones concerning his humanity. People didn't get second chances like the one he'd been given, and so far, his hadn't come cheap or easy. One could argue that being indebted to Cerberus was punishment enough for past sins but…just how much of his soul had remained after the reconstruction?

Shepard swore and forced the thoughts back down the deepest wells of his mind. He didn't have time to sort any of that shit out now. Someday he'd be able to…but until then, the Collector threat was obliterated and freeing himself from the Illusive Man came first.

He hoped that the upcoming recruits came with fewer complications than his latest addition from Korus. Shepard was uncertain as to what to do with Dr. Okeer's genetic tank. The position on his team had originally been intended for the krogan warlord—he had no way of knowing if the creature he created would be capable of filling the position, or even if it could be controlled in the first place. Dr. Okeer had been very specific about his legacy's dark purposes, and unleashing an adolescent krogan that had been engineered for destruction in deep space probably wasn't the safest action to take.

It was a decision that he could at least procrastinate on for a while, as E.D.I had discovered that the specimen could survive inside the tank for at least a year.

The computer chirped musically as the dossiers finished downloading from his email. Shepard opened the console, watching the Illusive Man's latest suggestions filter onto the screen. All three candidates were currently running around somewhere in Nos Astra, an incredible stroke of luck Shepard hadn't expected. The first one detailed the asari Justicar Samara, who possessed extensive biotic and weapon training. The next was Thane Krios, a drell assassin with specialties in quick-kill biotics and sniping.

Shepard paused, raising an eyebrow at the third dossier. Titled "Nightingale," Emma Dunne been trained in espionage and sniping, but her credentials were almost a mockery in comparison to the rest. She'd been an Alliance intelligence officer for three years until she'd been honorably discharged, and had since been living in Nos Astra. There was nothing notable in her biography, other than comments from former mentors and superior officers that she'd shown exceptional promise during her training and work on the Alliance frigate she'd served on.

Showing promise and actual experience were worlds away. The Illusive Man must have been getting a little desperate if he thought a soldier with so little battlefield experience would benefit them in the fight against the Collectors.

Shepard downloaded the files into E.D.I's system, deciding that he would look for Emma first when they arrived in Nos Astra. Based on her file, she would not only be the easiest to find, but the easiest to determine competency and ability.

He got to his feet and stretched, scratching the crawling sensation out of his ribs and thighs. "E.D.I, tell Garrus and Miranda to get themselves ready to go to Nos Astra with me."

"Yes, Commander," the feminine, electronic voice replied.

The holo-clock beside his bed chirped seven p.m hour and he sighed. It was going to be a long night, and he almost regretted the time he'd spent in the engine pits, trying to coax Jack into a civilized conversation. He'd almost succeeded too…but it was exactly as Kelly Chambers had described—the traumas in her past had rendered her incapable of trust and forming relationships. She wrought a deep sadness in him—like a cat arching its back, baring its teeth, hissing, and raising its fur, Jack's tattooing and heartless bravado was an attempt to warn away anyone who approached. A brittle disguise for the deeply rooted pain she was in.

Redirecting his thoughts away from the troubled biotic lurking in the depths of his ship, Shepard walked over to his armor locker to put on his hardsuit, passing the large fish tanks lining the left side of his quarters. Nine fish of varying species and colors darted through the cool, bubbly environment. He was grateful that Kelly had offered to feed them for him—they would have been long dead from starvation otherwise. Illium was reputed to be a trading and shopping hub. Perhaps he'd be able to add a few more species to his modest collection, something red or orange to contrast the white and green specimens drifting through the artificial kelp…

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><p><em>~ Illium, Nos Astra, Sunset ~ <em>

The sunsets of the Nos Astra skyline, forever a dazzling golden-red and purple saturation in the atmosphere, always seemed to burn with a mischievous sort of intensity on Friday night. Emma Dunne stood in front of the sink and mirror of her studio apartment's cramped bathroom, basking in the violet-gold light filtering through the wall-like window from her bedroom.

As she pursed her lips and smeared the rose-red color into an even coat, Emma recalled that most of the civilized planets in the galaxy regarded Mondays as the worst day of the week. She muttered a few choice comments about the schedules of entertainers and a desire for a quiet Monday night lounging in front of the television with a throw blanket and a pizza.

Hearing the vibrations and the musical jingle of her omni-tool on her bedside table, Emma gave herself a final glance-over in the mirror and hurried out of the bathroom. Coming to the bedside table, she scooped up the small wrist console and touched the bright orange, holographic button that silenced the alarm.

Pushing the dark gray bracelet open, she fastened it to her right wrist and looked around her apartment. It was in an abysmal state—the bed was unmade and covered with an overflowing laundry basket and half-folded clothes. Shoes and bras littered the pale blue carpet, and the small kitchenette in the corner was covered in dirty dishes. Her bathroom wasn't much better—stockings hung like wilted vines across the shower's glass door, the trashcan was overflowing with used tissues and other feminine garbage.

"Christ, I gotta stop with this shit, only college kids live like this," she muttered, shoving a handful of her sable-brown hair out of her face as she picked up her printed, white leather purse and slung the strap over her shoulder. She stepped across the threshold of the sliding metal door, pausing long enough to type in the lock command on her omni tool. While she waited for the lights to flicker from green to red, she reached into her purse and rummaged for her cigarettes. Locating it as the door locked itself, Emma shifted the engraved silver case and lighter into her right hand and began to make her way down the carpeted, dimly lit corridor.

She was cautious to keep her steps slow and carefully executed, hoping that the elevator was stopped on a nearby floor—the landlady's apartment was only two doors down from it and despite the asari's rumored "old age," she hadn't lost a bit of her hearing…or her looks for that matter. Emma wasn't in a mood to be harassed for rent in her neighbors' stead—somehow the old hag had discovered she worked with Ila and Tuwa, a pair of asari sisters that were frequently late with their rent credits.

She touched the button on the side of the wall, the noise of shifting gears and the rising elevator loud as thunder. Emma heaved a sigh and opened her case, tugging out the four-inch filter and a cigarette from the neat rows. Fitting the cigarette into the gleaming black filter, she heard the pressure release of a nearby door and shut her eyes with a grimace.

"Miss Dunne!"

"Evening, Ms. Niloufar," she replied, smiling pleasantly as a pale-blue skinned asari stepped into the corridor. Dressed in a floor length white dress, Ms. Niloufar ran the Blue Gardens apartment building with an iron grip that matched the fierce golden color of her eyes. A handful of dark blue freckles were spread across her cheeks, and the six, tentacle-like fringes covering the top of her head gleamed with a light silver tint at the crests and tips.

"Ila and Tuwa are behind two weeks on their rent again. You girls got paid today, correct?" she said, folding her arms beneath the low, full swell of her chest and raising a critical eyebrow.

"Yes ma'am..." Emma glanced up at the dial above the elevator and mentally cursing the eight floors the elevator still had to go before arriving.

"Well when you see them tonight you let them know that if I don't get their rent tomorrow they're going to find their shit all over the pavement outside and the locks changed. I'm sick of their dodgy bullshit."

"Yes ma'am," she replied with a light, non-committal tone.

"I'm happy you at least pay your rent on time…by the way, you're lookin' nice tonight," Ms. Niloufar smiled, glancing appreciatively at the knee-length, midnight blue dress Emma was wearing. "Going somewhere after your shift at the club?"

Emma shook her head. "I don't think so, ma'am. I'm in survival mode until Monday."

Ms. Niloufar threw back her head and laughed. "Honey you need to quit that singing and dancing business and find yourself a nice man. You've been here for what, four years? Most human girls I see are gone by now, swept off by some wealthy jackass or down-on-his-luck fixer-upper."

"Really? Which one should I keep an eye out for?" Emma grinned, biting the inside of her cheek as a flare of irritation moved through her chest. Grateful for the cheerful ding of the elevator door, Emma practically threw herself inside it and jammed her knuckle against the ground floor button on the console.

"Down-on-his-luck to be sure. Maybe a turian. You like the brooding, reptile-type don't you?"

Emma chuckled. "Good night, Ms. Niloufar."

"You too, Miss Dunne."

Emma rotated her cigarette and filter around with her thumb and index finger as she leaned against the back wall of the elevator. Beyond cylindrical glass case, the Nos Astra skyline cut a sharp, glowing silhouette against the violet-red sky. Emma could see a transparent image of herself on the polished, clear surface—her thick, brown-black hair hung in its usual waves and layers past her shoulders. Her dress was body-hugging and sleeveless, with a high neckline and keyholes in the back and front that flattered her wide hips and modest bust. She'd purchased it on a whim earlier that day, tired of the tights, tunics, and all-covering, floor length dresses that were currently on the rage.

Arriving on the ground floor, Emma made short work of the lobby and stepped out onto the sidewalk outside the Blue Gardens apartment. It was a small complex in comparison to the skyscrapers that filled the city—only twenty stories high. But it was clean and in a decent neighborhood, mostly populated by the nightclub workers of the more benevolent species that populated Illium.

Puffing life into her cigarette as she started down the sidewalk, Emma shook her head. The landlady's well-meant comments chafed just enough to be a nuisance. She was very aware that her life had taken a turn for the ritualistic and unexciting, despite her job as an entertainer. And she could admit that a regular man in her life would be a welcome addition. But a turian?

Putting aside their towering stature and raptor-like teeth, Emma didn't know a lot about the race. Most turians that turned up at the club were dragged there by human companions for bachelor parties. Ila and Tuwa had commented that the turian's military-oriented society made them stuffy and unsociable…code for their unimpressive tip average. And having once spotted a handful of sex-toys in a shop kiosk that were modeled after turian anatomy—her midsections involuntarily tightened. She understood why it was considered a fetish. While human and turian genetalia matched enough to establish the act, a woman would either have to possess extensive sexual history or a freakishly constructed nether region to accommodate the shape and length.

Or, so her personal hypothesis dictated. Toy manufactures weren't usually the most reputable source to gauge average male sizes.

Pushing the thought from her mind, Emma crossed the street and hurried up a flight of steps that led to the transportation hub, just outside the Nos Astra shipping offices. At seven-thirty in the evening, the courtyard was sparsely populated by clusters of asari, salarians, and humans chatting while they waited for cabs or shopped at the glowing round kiosks in the far left corner. Emma activated her omni-tool and summoned her traditional evening ride for her cross-city commute. When the holographic screen shining out of the miniature projector predicted a ten minute wait, she turned off the device and wandered over to a railing that overlooked the city.

She spent a few minutes admiring the landscape, idly breathing on her cigarette filter as she eavesdropped on a conversation a pair of asari were having, something involving a new drug that apparently caused permanent neural scarring and had a twelve page contract plus waiver attached to it. Within a few exchanges it was apparent that a disagreement was quickly budding, and Emma flicked ash from the tip of her cigarette.

There was a part of her somewhere inside that was starting to warm up to the idea of leaving Illium. She'd come there four years before in the hopes of starting fresh, which she'd been able to accomplish with few complaints, backbreaking effort, and no indentured servitude contracts. She had little to dislike about her life—her responsibilities were easy, and she made just enough money to keep herself comfortable despite the handful of credits that remained of her inheritance. She spent Wednesdays to Sundays entertaining and partying at the_ Old Nouveau_, and wasn't required to take all her clothes off to do it. Yet, she couldn't quite banish the rising unease she supposed the abrupt conclusion of her stint in the Alliance was kindling.

The idea of enlisting again made her stomach churn. How could she go back to the regimented, orders-and-salutes lifestyle after four years of dancing at a nightclub? She supposed she could join up with the Eclipse, but the mercenary profession chafed her sense of propriety, as did being some kind of assassin. And she would sign an indentured service contract before considering returning home to the Earth.

Emma forced herself to rein control of the rising torrent of memories and emotions. Running in circles around her thoughts would do nothing but hinder her night's progress. She checked her omni-tool, annoyed that the cab was now five minutes late. She was about to put another cigarette in the filter when a worn, dark red hover-cab swept into the docking hub and lowered into a parking space close by. The hologram bolted to the craft's roof flickered and cut the words "E. Dunne – Old Nouveau" in bold, electric green letters into the air above the ship. Emma started towards it, digging in her purse for her cigarette case.

"Shepard, there's a security node up ahead."

Emma felt her eardrums burst into flames and icy needles dig into her spine. She halted mid-step and craned her head around, searching for the source of the woman's voice she'd just heard.

"I see it, Miranda. Keep an eye out for me."

She wasn't entirely certain to trust what she was seeing. Emma had heard the occasional, wild rumor that the Spectre legend Commander John Shepard had somehow survived the final days of the Citadel attacks. Naturally she'd dismissed them as conspiracy-tabloid writer fodder. Yet, the commander appeared to be in robust, fine health—if that really was him walking towards the security system located beside the sales kiosks.

He hadn't attired himself for discretion with a blood red, N7 armor hardsuit. The commander looked exactly the way he did in holograms, videos, and posters—cropped, ink black hair, a strong, square shaped jaw, and heavily fringed, ice-blue eyes. Emma's eyebrows crept upwards as she noticed a mild network of scarring that covered the left side of his face, and gave off a faint, orange light. Had the commander been pumped full of cybernetic implants after his ordeal?

The woman the commander had addressed as Miranda was devastatingly beautiful, with shoulder long, rich black hair that was cut in stylish waves and tip tilted, storm-gray eyes. Emma recognized the designer label that had produced her black and white jumpsuit—the brand produced expensive, fashionable, and highly efficient women's battle attire. Emma had purchased one for herself years ago, but hers had never seen the world outside of the parcel it had come in.

The pair approached the security console without any casualty or hesitation. Emma wasn't surprised—nobody in the courtyard would be stupid enough to pick a fight with a pair of heavily armed and suited soldiers. Commander Shepard had brought up the security screen, and his fingers were flying across the holographic projection as he hacked into the system. Curiosity as to what he was up and what he was doing on Illium was burning inside Emma with the power of a star going super-nova, but even if she approached him, she doubted her intrusion would be a welcome one at the moment.

Trailing behind them was a turian, clutching an M-15 Vindicator battle rifle and suited in a traditional, navy-blue hardsuit that had seen better days on the battlefield. Most notably was the deep, blackened split in the wide rim of the shoulder piece. Poor bastard must have been shot at with a very large canon to have put such a noticeable crack in his armor. Like most turians he towered above most everyone around him, and had a holographic visor strapped over his left eye.

Emma blinked, noticing the graft bandage and heavy, dark red and black scarring that covered a good portion of his face. She assumed it was more damage leftover from whatever had blown such a large hole in his armor. It only increased his formidable appearance, coupled with the blue tribal markings on the plates of scale-like flesh of his eyelids, nose, and mandibles.

"Excuse me ma'am! If you're not going to get in that cab I'll take it," a salarian called, the aggravation in his voice hardly masked. Shaking her head, Emma turned her away and hurried over to the cab, quickly stepping below the raised door and taking a seat on the worn, threadbare leather on the passenger side.

"Sorry man, I gotta go to work," she said as she slid into the front passenger seat of the car. An electronic, feminine voice filled the small cabin, advising her to keep her hands, feet, and belongings clear of the doors as they slammed shut.

"E. Dunne…is the _Old Nouveau _nightclub your final destination?" the voice inquired, flickering with static buildup.

"Yes, go."

Emma looked out of the tinted window, watching Commander Shepard and his two friends rush across the balcony to a communication terminal. She supposed that seeing him was a grim sign—after all, with recent Collector attacks on human colonies, who else was the Alliance supposed to rely on to save them?

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><p><em>AUTHORS NOTES<em>

Any thoughts, negative and positive, are decidedly welcome—I'm one of those assholes that post according to interest displayed. I'm also happy to hear suggestions for what you think should happen next! And if anybody's got an idea for a better title by all means throw it at me. Titling my work always seems to be the hardest thing to do.

See you guys soon.


	2. Old Nouveau

_AUTHORS NOTES_

Hey again everybody! First off I want to thank the handful of peeps that took the time to review the first chapter. I really appreciate it! Same goes for the ones that threw it on their alerts/favorites list.

Secondly, I've gone back and edited the first chapter a little. Not much, nothing's really changed. Just fixed whatever typos, awkward sentences, word repetitions, ect. Will probably do that for all my chapters after a new one comes out.

I've been steadily going through the other Mass Effect fanfics here. I gotta say, I'm very impressed with the quantity and quality! Discovering all the quirky aspects and terms fellow fan-authors have adopted is very inspiring. Especially concerning Turian anatomy, courtship culture, and interspecies sex. This fic will most likely see a bit of that in the future, so it's good to see what people generally like to see/expect for that sort of thing.

I still haven't quite made up my mind on who the good commander should end up with in the long run. So far suggestions have been for Liara, Miranda, and Tali. Since I haven't played the first ME yet I'm probably going to rule Liara out for this story. I'm curious as to what the consensus is among fans concerning Tali…she seems to be the guy's counterpart of Garrus. Can anybody weigh in on the specifics of Tali's exotic charms?

Enjoy this installment, reviews are cherished—and will most likely be returned if you've posted a fanfic!

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><p><em>~ Club Old Nouveau, twenty minutes later ~ <em>

Emma stepped out of the cab and looked up at the _Old Nouveau_ nightclub. A building that had been architecturally modified with references to ancient 19th century Earthen styles, it stood five stories high and was lit with red, pink, and gold spotlights. A line was already forming within a coil of red velvet ropes headed by Thurst, an elcor that had been hired on as an entrance guard when the place had first opened up twenty years ago.

Emma waved to Thurst, who didn't bother to respond as the couple in front of him argued about their admittance denial. Striding around the side of the building, she passed Marcus, a human bouncer that watched the dancer's entrance of the building. With a nut-brown complexion and five feet, eight inch height, whatever he lacked in stature was made up for the sheer amount of muscle on his bulky figure. The rayon black t-shirt was stretched to capacity across his barrel-like chest and broad shoulders, making the white, boldface letters that spelled BOUNCER on his chest almost transparent.

"Whats good, Em?"

"Hey Marcus, gonna be a big crowd tonight?" she asked as he stepped aside to let her into the narrow alley that led to the club's side entrance.

"You know it, baby! Any night you bust out the guns is."

Emma beamed and waved at him as she knocked on the small, bolted door that led to the dressing rooms. Over the years Marcus had become a personal favorite, always watchful to be sure no one harassed her or any of the other dancers, willing to lend a listening ear, and remained close-lipped about secrets that were confided in him.

Emma perked up as she heard the locking mechanisms sliding open, and the narrow door shot upwards into the top frame of the wall. Ila had been the one to answer it, and beamed at Emma as she stepped inside the club.

"Emma! Good to see you, whats up?"

"Ms. Niloufar's patience," Emma grunted, folding her arms. "For the love of God, you and Tuwa need to pay your damn rent. She said she'd have you evicted if you didn't pay up by tomorrow."

"Hmf. That old hag can go meld with a krogan," Ila rolled her large, honey-colored eyes, which were shadowed with gold and green makeup. She had a periwinkle complexion that made the dark violet lipstick she wore draw the most attention to her mouth, as she was a master of the pouting arts. Her head fringe and ears were adorned with a number of gold piercings, and her body was strategically wrapped in layers of transparent, snowy white nylon and lace.

"I'm serious, Ila. I'm getting a little tired of catching heat from her every time I step out my door."

"Relax! I'll take care of it tonight right after our shift," Ila replied, although Emma didn't believe for a minute the self-absorbed asari would recall that promise in a few hours. "Come on, lets get your hair and makeup done. You're going to have to open the show tonight…Yulay didn't show up tonight."

Emma nodded and followed Ila down the dimly lit, narrow entrance hall and through a creaky, circular door that led to the club's dressing rooms. Once it was two rooms, but the club's owner had torn it down to form one large chamber. The walls were lined with layers of old posters, mirrored vanity tables, shelves, and racks buckling under the weight of colorful costumes and props. Tuwa, Ila's twin sister, was sitting at one of the tables applying hot pink color to her lips while one of the assistants was busy with the final trimmings of her costume. The black lace and nylon was an identical replica of the one Ila was wearing, with slight differences in the textures and patterns on the stockings and cloth.

Heading to her usual corner table, Emma dropped her purse and sat down in the padded stool. Angelene Sekia, the club's entertainment coordinator, stepped through the curtain-covered door a moment later. A human woman in her mid forties with a towering, bleach-blonde beehive, new employees were quick to learn not to cross her, as she was fond of delivering sharp pokes with the sleek black cane she always carried.

"Miss Dunne, glad to see you're here," she said, gesturing for one of the idle makeup-assistants to help Emma change for the show as she set a glass of warm salt-water on the vanity table. "You'll be going on for Yulay this evening. Do you need anything?"

"Ila mentioned it. And I'm fine, Ms. Angelene."

"Good. Be quick about getting changed we need to get the show started soon."

Emma reached up and undid the clasp at the top of her dress, letting the material fall away from her neck and shoulders as the assistant gathered her hair to be brushed and pinned. She blew a stray curl away from her eyes as she unclipped her omni-tool from her wrist.

"You should gargle and put your costume on first, miss," the assistant said, twisting Emma's layered, curly hair into a bun and clipping it to the back of her head. She nodded and got up, reaching a hand out as Ila tossed a mass of gauzy, glitzy pearl and peach colored fabric at her. The sequins on the bodice tingled as Tuwa and the other performers began to filter towards the curtains.

"Here I'll put this on go help anybody that needs it with their hair or makeup," Emma said, waving the assistant's hands away and gently tugging the costume out of her grip. She waited until the assistant was busy helping a dancer secure a pin in her costume before she sat back down, grateful for the few seconds to collect her thoughts.

Emma drank a mouthful of the salt-water that Angelene had left her, swirling it in her mouth and gargling before spitting it back into the glass. Shimmying out of the tight, dark blue dress, she began a round of halfhearted warm-up scales, and tried not to think about distracting theories as to why Commander Shepard was roaming around Illium hacking security nodes.

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><p><em>~ Outside ~ <em>

"This is the nightclub Liara told us Emma Dunne would be," Miranda said as Shepard and Garrus shifted out of the hover-taxi they had ridden across the city in. "Charming little place," she added, although whether she meant it sincerely or sarcastically would forever remain a mystery.

Shepard looked up at the five story structure, surprised at the ancient Earthen twists on the balconies, windows, and corners. Two or three windows jutted out like miniature towers, the panes draped with lacey curtains and glittering with warm candlelight. Above the door the words _Old Nouveau_ were written in blue neon lights with a loopy, dramatic font. It was still fairly early in the evening but the maze of red-velvet ropes leading to the front door was already filled, with a handful of hopeful-patrons lingering at the end of it.

"Looks a bit ritzy. If I'd have known I would have had my talons done," Garrus commented, grinning at John and flexing his long, gloved fingers around his Vindicator's handle.

Shepard chuckled. "I don't even know if they'll let you in…we'll have to see if they allow pets inside."

Miranda rolled her eyes and folded her arms impatiently. "Let's get on with this task, shall we? We have more important things to do than run errands for an information broker this evening."

"All right, let's go see about getting in," Shepard waited for the elcor guarding the doors to let the newly admitted group inside before cutting across the front of the line.

"Hey! Get in line, assholes!"

"What the hell do these clowns think they're doing?" an aggravated young man cried as Garrus and Miranda stepped behind the commander. The agitated patron glanced back and forth the intruders, clearly uncertain as to which one posed a greater threat…the woman with a raised, graceful eyebrow and cold gray eyes, or the menacing turian grinning and patting the recoil pad of a Vindicator rifle.

"My friends and I would like to go inside please," Shepard said with a pleasant smile at the enormous, hulking-limbed alien.

"Calmly, state your name for access to your membership," he replied, the monotonous voice causing the ribbed skin across his mouth to vibrate and shift with the sound.

"I'm Commander Shepard…I don't have membership here, but surely you can make an exception just this once for me."

The elcor grunted, looking at the pedestal that beamed a holographic list of encoded guest names. "Pleasantly, Commander Shepard…I've been instructed to let you pass if you ever approached. Please, enjoy your stay."

Shepard's nodded his thanks as he, Miranda, and Garrus walked up the short, narrow steps to the club's front door. There was a mild outrage back at the line, mixed with startled exclamations and inquiries if it truly was Commander Shepard walking into the _Old Nouveau_.

The interior of the _Old Nouveau_'s main floorwas an enormous single chamber, tastefully decorated with dark red paint and carpets that complimented the gold and purple spotlights cutting beams and patterns through the cigarette-smoke saturated air. Plush, white couches and chairs were arranged around candlelit tables. On the far side of the room was a dance floor, set up at the base of a sweeping staircase that led to the upper floors. The bar was located along the entire left wall, tended by a handful of salarian and asari dressed in black. The most impressive feature was the round, elevated stage in the center of the room, surrounded by six miniature versions like dark, metallic islands.

Shepard surveyed the patrons, noticing the colorful crowd. Groups and couples sat on the couches and at the tables, nursing drinks, smoking, chatting, and playing cards. Five or six people were on the dance floor, moving with varying levels of grace and competency to the thick, eclectic mix of techno and orchestral music pouring out of the speakers.

"All right, let's have a seat somewhere, order a few drinks. Can't hurt to enjoy ourselves for a little bit," Shepard waggled an eyebrow at Miranda. She bristled in response and opened her mouth to object, but the commander was already on his way to the bar before she could utter the words.

Garrus shrugged, resisting the urge to chuckle at the woman's obvious irritation as she turned her back and walked over to one of the half-circle booths located just off of the main floor. It was a rather strategic spot—they would be able to survey most everything going on in the club without looking too out-of-place.

Knowing that his wide physique probably wouldn't be able to fit between the table and the plushly cushioned bench, Garrus pulled out the matching chair and positioned it to the side so he could survey the happenings behind their table unobstructed. Shepard was already heading for them, a tall, cylindrical bottle of bright red liquid and three shot glasses in his hands.

An asari waitress strolled up to the table a moment or two after Shepard made himself comfortable beside Miranda. "Good evening! I see you've already visited the bar…is there anything else I can get you?"

Garrus shook his head, accepting the small glass Shepard pushed towards him. Miranda uttered a short, half-hearted response, her eyes rotating around the cavernous, haze-filled room with a predator's scrutiny.

"I think we'll be okay for now," Shepard replied, smiling courteously up at the young asari. "But, we're also looking for someone…her name is Emma Dunne. Is she working tonight?"

"Yeah she's here, the entertainment's going to start in about five minutes. She usually just does the Shot-glass Shoot-off but one of our singers didn't show up tonight so she'll be doing a little more. Emma's the human with bird wing tattoos on her back."

"Thanks for the info, ma'am," Shepard raised his omni-tool and forwarded a generous tip to the waitress, who beamed and assured them if they needed anything else to just wave her over.

"Well, that was easy…compared to what we went through to get Jack and the krogan anyway," Garrus gestured for Shepard to refill his glass.

"Too easy," Miranda added with a suspicious, downcast tone. "I'm not so sure Emma Dunne is the right fit for our mission, Shepard."

Shepard nodded. "I thought about that too…but we may as well meet her to see what she's like before we move on. Justicar Samara and Thane Krios are somewhere in this city and they'll take a little more work to scare up."

Miranda rolled her storm-gray eyes and tossed her drink back in a swift, experienced swallow. Shepard and Garrus remained silent, pretending not to notice her struggle to keep her expression cool and detached—the vodka, flavored with cherry nectar, had a powerful burn to it.

"How is everybody doing here at the _Old Nouveau_ tonight?"

Shepard, Garrus, and Miranda directed their attention to the center stage as a wave of applause and cheers filled the club. One of the salarian bartenders had appeared on the main elevated stage, his tunic studded with sequins that glittered in the spotlight.

"Glad to hear it! We're going to be getting started in just a minute so put your hands together for our lovely ladies and enjoy the show!"

The overhead lights were promptly dimmed then, plunging the club into semi-darkness. The only sources of light were the decorative neon lights on the furniture and stage. The patrons fell into hushed, excited murmurs as blue light gradually flooded the main stage and its six satellites, revealing a troupe of lusciously feminine silhouettes. A playful, electric tremor crawled though the speakers before a burst of synthesized music poured into the room, accented by orchestral strings and tribal drums.

Spotlights embedded into the floors of the stages grew steadily brighter, flickering colors and pulsing in tune with the beat and surrounding the performers with an alluring luminance. The harem-like ensemble was a blend of asari and humans, each wearing exotic costumes that wrapped their bodies in semi-transparent layers, embroidered with sequins and beads that sparkled in the stage light.

One by one the dancers began to move in practiced choreography that had been tailored to exude grace and kindle desire slowly—worlds away from the lewd displays at the Omega bars. Their movements hastened in sync with the music, soon joined by a haunting voice that filtered through the audio equipment in layered echoes.

All at once the club was lit with gold and orange light, causing most of the patrons to wince and blink as a shapely, dark-haired woman dressed in shimmering white and peach gauze drifted to the center of the stage. She took a deep breath and began to murmur an exotic, wordless chant that ushered into an explosive rhythm and sent the other performers into a whirlwind, tribal-like dance around her.

"Nice," Shepard murmured, a lazy grin spreading across his face as reclined into his seat and watched the show with unabashed attention.

"Shepard, can you tell if that woman is Emma Dunne?" Miranda asked, leaning close to the commander.

Shepard shrugged. "Not yet…keep an eye out for back tattoos."

Garrus sipped at the beverage. He liked the sweet, heady taste but had mastered the discipline of introducing non-turian food and drinks to his stomach slowly. He never knew what would be tolerable and what would turn his insides into a burning, itching, pins-and-needles hell.

He peered through his targeting visor's screen, setting its focus on the singing woman in the middle of the stage. With the magnifying settings he had a refined view of her features, which he supposed were attractive by human standards. Her sable-brown hair was thick and rippled around her face and shoulders in spiraling waves, and her eyes were round and dark. She'd ceased the ethereal chanting and was unleashing a torrent of foreign lyrics on the audience, her voice an intense, but not unpleasant soprano. Garrus hadn't a clue what the song was about, nor was he much interested—the unbridled sound of her voice was captivating enough, as was the graceful, fluid motions of her gyrating waist and arms.

After a frustrating minute or two she finally turned a full circle, and thankfully, her hair wasn't so long that it covered her shoulder blades—which were inked with an elegant design of feathery bird wings.

"That's her," Garrus rapped the table's surface with a knuckle to catch Miranda and Shepard's attention. "I see the tattoos."

"Wonder what the Shot-glass Shoot-off is," Miranda muttered.

Shepard glanced at Miranda and wondered why the Cerberus officer was eyeing the performing women with a suspicious expression. She must have recognized something in the traits of the ex-Alliance-turned-singer, though wagering a guess as to what that was would be impossible for now.

"What do you think of her, Shepard?"

"I think she'd dominate the Normandy's karaoke night," the commander answered the turian with a smirk. "But, I'll guess I'll have a better idea of what her battle-skills are when she does the shot-glass thing."

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><p>AUTHOR'S NOTES<p>

Sorry about the rough drop off point…I'm basically unleashing all this in one document without paying much heed to making official chapters. Pacing comes naturally after all!

Please, tell me your thoughts! I'm still open for votes on who the Commander ends up with in the long run.


	3. Shot Glass Shoot Off

_AUTHOR'S NOTES_

Hiya Peeps! Good lord, usually I tend to wait a week or until 10 reviews until publishing a new chapter, but I can't seem to wait longer than two days. But, I suppose the introductory stuff is always the driest to get through concerning original-input and introductory BS. I swear it's going to pick up soon. It's just hard because…well, let's face it, who DOESNT paruse along here without seeing how many chapters-reviews there are on a story? It's a good hint that the thing is worth reading!

Although, I have read some remarkable stuff here on . If you haven't, I suggest you mosey on over to read "Waypoint" by Mariah Kechum. It's a Fem!Shep/Garrus fic, that involves Mommy Shepard and Daddy Vakarian. Freakin' incredible reads guys.

In case anybody's curious, Emma's singing voice is inspired by Sarah Brightman and Emma Shapplin (who she's named for). When I started this, I'd been waiting for a chance to work with an opera-singer type of character that didn't have Princess-Syndrome (though God knows I absolutely love the Princess-Syndrome XD!). Sarah Brightman's song "Arabian Nights –part 4, Hamesha" is what I wrote the performance-scene to. It's done in the Hindi language. One thing I've always enjoyed about music in foreign languages is that you have to make your own meanings/scenes/inspirations from the way the song sounds if you don't understand the lyrics.

Enjoy, lemme know what you think! C'mon even a "this sucks" is better then nothing guys!

* * *

><p>Forty-five minutes passed pleasantly enough—whoever owned the <em>Old Nouveau <em>hadn't spared expenses concerning the entertainment. Five tasteful, elaborate routines followed Emma Dunne's opening, each one distinct and created an enjoyable pattern of varying moods. Emma herself had joined the backup ensemble, occasionally belting a two or three line solo.

Shepard's attention lingered mostly on her. Miss Dunne had impeccable control over her body's movements, more so when she was dancing backup than as the show's main focus.

A burst of sparklers shooting up from the stage floors signaled the end of the hour, and the dancers promptly vanished behind the blinding eruption. The salarian bartender that had opened the show appeared soon after, waving to the applauding, half-drunk crowd.

"Let's have one more big hand for the dancers, especially to the Nightingale, our Miss Emma Dunne, who was kind enough to understudy for us this evening!"

A chorus of whistles and cheers followed with respectable contributions from Shepard and Garrus. Miranda merely folded her arms and sat back speculatively.

"Speaking of Miss Dunne, I believe it's time we started the Shot-glass Shoot-off!"

"If somebody doesn't explain what the hell that is soon I'm going to show them a real shoot-off," Garrus muttered darkly. Shepard threw his head back and laughed.

"I see a few new faces here so I'll go over a few safety tips," the salarian said, waving his hand to quiet the rising excitement in the room. "Remember that Miss Dunne is carrying a real M-92 Mantis sniper rifle, courtesy of our sponsor Devlon Industries. The staff of _Old Nouveau_ asks that for this act you remain in your seats. If you absolutely must move, we suggest you keep your head low and movements steady. The Old Nouveau is not responsible for any injuries or deaths that might occur during this act, so if you find this portion of the entertainment too hazardous to your health, please take a short break outside now. The shoot-off will begin in five minutes, so now is the time to stock up on your drinks and glasses!"

With the injury warnings given, the salarian hurried off the stage as a torrent of waitresses filed into the maze-like web of tables, carrying trays of liquor bottles and shot-glasses. Shepard, Miranda, and Garrus watched the regular patrons seize whatever glasses they could get a hold of and pile them onto the center of the tables. If the shoot-off act was what they were beginning to suspect…no wonder the place was so damn popular.

"How are you guys doing?" The asari waitress that had told them about Dunne's tattoos asked, setting six old shot-glasses in the middle of the table. "Enjoying the show?"

"Yeah," Shepard picked up one of the glasses. "Pretty interesting gig you guys have going here. Why are you guys passing out old shot-glasses?"

"Its one of our trademark acts. When Miss Dunne signals your table one of you can take a turn throwing a glass into the air and she'll shoot it. People bet on if she'll hit or miss it."

"How…gaudy," Miranda remarked.

"A little…but it's a lot of fun!"

"What's her hit-miss ratio?" Garrus glancing around the walls—unfortunately the ones that weren't covered with some sort of fabric were too shadowy to see any bullet holes.

"Something outrageous. I think she's only missed like, ten glasses since we started doing this two years ago. But don't worry, between you and me, the bullets she uses are plastic so if anybody gets hit there's no permanent damage. Let me know if you guys need anything else, all right?"

"Plastic bullets…whatever gun she uses can't be real," Miranda turned to Shepard and pinned him with an impatient glare. "Shepard this is becoming a waste of time."

"We'll talk to her after this act and move on," the commander wore an amused grin as he played with one of the chipped glasses in his hand. "Fake gun or not I want to see this."

Shepard glanced at Miranda, privately enjoying the Cerberus officer's blatant agitation with him. Something within him enjoyed baiting her, watching her struggle to master her impatience and keep her frosty composure. Cheap thrills were far and few between for him…Cerberus had at least done him one favor in assigning her to his team.

"How's everyone doing tonight?"

Another rupture of applause filled the nightclub as Emma Dunne appeared on the center stage at long last, accompanied by a pair of asari assistants carrying a black case and a tray piled high with ammunition clips. Although her dark hair still sparkled with glitter, she had changed out of the wispy white-peach gown. Her current costume was far more casual—a pair of dark, slim-fitting jeans tucked into knee-high boots and a white tube-shirt that displayed a large portion of her abdomen. She wore a single piece of armor—a gun-gray sheet of metal strapped over her right shoulder, presumably to guard against recoil blows.

A grin pulled at Garrus's mandibles—just as he did, she shot left handed.

"Great to see you guys again. Thanks so much for sitting through my solo earlier by the way," she added with theatrical modesty, which roused the audience into reassuring hoots and hollering. "Anyway I'm going to get started here in a few minutes…anybody in here celebrating a birthday? Bachelor-bachelorette parties? Dare I ask, anniversaries?"

"Right over here, Emma! My buddy's tyin' the knot tomorrow!"

"My brother turned eighteen today, make sure you shoot his glass off, okay!"

"She certainly knows how to charm a crowd," Garrus commented, the magnification on his visor revealing the details of a glittering gem lodged on a ring in her navel. As a male Garrus could appreciate any feminine display of partial-nudity, but he didn't count himself among the growing population of turians who enjoyed human women. He'd once indulged with an asari, and the encounter had been awkward enough to overshadow the experience's exotic tang. Human women couldn't be that much different, and he wasn't about to risk his pride to test the theory.

Shepard finished the last of the cherry flavored liquor. Charming was putting it mildly—he supposed it was due to the differences of their species. Miss Dunne seemed to be flirting and joking with everyone within a ten foot radius of the stage as opened the black case. The prop-gun was a perfect reproduction of an M-92 Mantis rifle, complete with scope, paint job, and logo.

Emma strolled around the stage, holding the weapon up as she fitted it with a thermal and ammunition clip, pausing occasionally to greet a new patron the regulars pushed forward or to sign a trinket that was thrust up at her.

"All right everybody, let's get this show on the road!" she hollered, shouldering the rifle and threading a finger through the trigger loop. "Where's that birthday boy again?"

A hot, synthesized beat began to drum in the background as the gun-wielding performer sauntered to the far side of the stage and took aim. Shepard watched, feeling impressed—whatever reasons Dunne had for quitting the Alliance, she had certainly been creative with using her learned skills. Most ex-soldiers ended up as mercenaries or assassins. She earned her living making people laugh, smile, admire…she _entertained_ them. It was a hell of a lot more lighthearted than anything he'd seen before.

Emma moved with as much grace as an asari dancer, tapping her boots, waist gyrating, and shoulders rolling with the music as she darted across the stage. At first she kept to the regular patrons, using them to demonstrate how she did things. She'd catch the attention of a table and wait for them to sort out who was going to throw a glass up first. And when they did, she took quick aim and fired the shot. If the waitress hadn't said anything Shepard would have sworn it was real—the recoil was sharp and visible against her shoulder, the thermal clip and barrel steaming with each shot. Glasses shattered into clouds of glittering dust above the table, the whiz of bullets ripping through the music.

Much to everyone's disappointment, Emma eventually had gone through her entire stockpile of "ammunition." She shushed and cajoled the moaning audience, wandering across the stage as she loaded the final thermal clip into its gauge. Her final target was the salarian bartender, who flung a bottle of cheap batarian whiskey into the air. Patrons at the table beneath it squealed and laughed as they were showered in alcohol and glass shards.

"Thanks so much, you guys were great! Have a good night everybody!"

There were some shouts that begged her not to go as Dunne glided down the small staircase that wrapped around the edge of the stage, darting through the maze of tables with practiced ease. Within half a minute she had vanished behind a curtained door, not once looking at the applauding crowd she left behind.

Miranda's attention fell on the asari waitress as she returned with a fresh bottle of cherry-red liquor. Enough was enough—the men were obviously fine with sitting and drinking the evening away, therefore it was up to her to take some kind of action to get the evening going.

The asari glanced at the stack of in-tact shot-glasses. "Damn, what a shame she didn't get around to your table. That's what keeps the act fresh you know, customers she doesn't get around to usually end up coming back for more. Might help if you sit a little closer to the stage next time."

"Excuse me, but how much longer will Miss Dunne be performing?" Miranda forced herself to smile as she took the unopened bottle before the commander could get a hold of it.

"This is the last we'll see of her tonight. The other dancers will come back for another hour and then we switch back to regular dance-floor activities."

"We need to speak with her. Is there any way we could get in the back to see her once she's done? Or ask her to come out to us?"

The waitress regarded the three with a contemplative expression, her eyes darting around to check the surrounding tables. "I'll let her know you guys want to see her, but don't get your hopes up too high. She usually doesn't do sit-downs with the patrons."

Shepard tilted his head, masterfully flashing his devilish grin as he directed a second generous tip from his omni-tool to hers. "Would it help if she knew I'm Commander Shepard?"

Miranda's stomach roiled in disgust as the asari giggled, practically vibrating with excitement. It was difficult to look at this side of Shepard—the ability to charm anyone he spoke to into doing what he wanted…at the bottom of her heart Miranda battled a sharp, envious twinge, but she would die a thousand times over before admitting it.

"I'll be sure to tell her. Word is she's ex-Alliance…I'm sure she'd be happy to talk with you," the waitress said, nodding gratefully to Shepard before rushing to the back of the bar and through the curtained door Dunne had slipped through.

"Garrus," Shepard said, leaning towards the turian and dropping his voice _al sotto_. "Go outside and make sure she doesn't try to slip out and run. I don't think she will but…"

"It's best to be prepared," Garrus finished, picking up his weapon and getting to his feet. "Good luck…I'll be in touch on the radio if I see her."

Miranda took a deep breath as the turian stepped away from the table. Her heartbeat was already starting to rise, as it always did when she was alone with the commander. He had an unnerving way of disarming all of her mental defenses, crawling under her skin and aggravating her nerves until it took every bit of discipline and restraint she possessed to keep from ripping the cybernetics out of his head with her bare hands.

_~ Dressing Room ~_

"Good performance tonight, Miss Dunne," Angelene Sekia said as Emma stepped into the dressing room. The stage manager held up a glass of iced water, which was accepted and consumed with childish gusto.

"Thank you, ma'am," Emma took the hand towel her hair and makeup assistant brought her, blotting the perspiration on her forehead and neck as she headed for the vanity table she dressed at. She pressed the chilled, empty glass against her throat, careful to keep it angled so the ice-cubes didn't fall out. The cool wetness felt good against her throat as she flexed the aching, itching muscles.

Emma had grown accustomed to the sore throats. She would experience them towards the end of her workweek, when her vocal cords were strained from the performances. Usually the pain wasn't so intense until Sunday evenings, but her increased cigarette intake and taking one of the starring roles in the show that night was wrecking vengeance. She tilted her head back, flexing the muscles of her esophagus and gently trailing her nails up and down the sides of her neck, trying to soothe the aggravated nerves.

"Miss Dunne?"

Emma craned her head to look over her shoulder. One of the asari servers from the front had come up to her table, wearing a giddy smile.

"Hey, what's up?"

"There're some people out front that want to talk with you."

Emma took in a slow breath and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Sometimes tipsy patrons would request her to join their party. Sekia and the other managers encouraged an occasional appearance on the main floor, and every now and then Emma indulged. She'd met some of her friends that way, even landed a short-lived boyfriend once.

"Did you get a name? What're they like?"

The waitress giggled loudly, shifting from foot to foot with the nervous energy of a teenage girl meeting a famous rock star. "It's _Commander Shepard_! The Spectre! Please tell me you're going to go sit with him, he's given me like, 50 credits in tips so far!"

Emma pursed her lips as her heart turned several painful flips in her chest. She hung her head and shook it, feeling an explosive collision of dread and excitement wash over her. The galaxy certainly had a powerful sense of humor in picking its coincidences.

"Yeah I'll go see him," she said after a tense moment. "What table is he at?"

"He's at one of the round booths on the main floor. There's a turian and a woman in a white jumpsuit sitting with him."

"Thanks dear, I'll be out in a minute" Emma began tugging the straps of recoil-plate on her shoulder. She wished the commander had told the waitress why he wanted to see her—usually someone she had impressed on the stage included their raptures in their requests for her to join them. Figures that John Shepard would be the exception…only concerning the commander, the reasons he wanted to speak with her ranged from him enjoying her performance to wanting to recruit her on whatever dangerous, classified mission he was on. One could never tell with Spectres. The question's elusive answer was maddening, crawling under her skin and filling her nerves with warm static.

Emma took in a steadying breath. The only people that had noticed her exit from the Alliance were old superior officers and friends of her mother's. She hadn't heard from any one of them since the funeral, and she doubted they'd sent Commander Shepard in a ditch attempt to lure her back. She dropped the recoil-armor piece on the cushioned stool as she stepped away from the vanity table. Whatever John Shepard wished to speak to her about, she was anxious to hear it.

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><p><em>AUTHORS NOTES<em>

Also, so far I've got two votes for Liara, one for Miranda, and one for Tali so far. Still need some more imput people, I'm here to serve YOU! *presidential flag waving*


	4. Recruit the Nightingale

_AUTHOR'S NOTES_

Hello again everyone! I can't thank the readers/reviewers enough—this story is going much better than anticipated. The viewcount keeps creeping upwards! I remember back in the day when I first used this website…close to eight years ago now…oh god I'm so old…but anyway, this site didn't have all of the nifty tools it now does. I can't believe it's still free!

I want to offer a quick apology—during the course of my editing I accidentally replaced the first chapter with the second one. ::forehead slap:: Whoops. Probably confused the crap out of a couple people. But that should be all fixed now.

In case anybody's curious, Emma's singing voice is heavily inspired by Sarah Brightman and Emma Shapplin (who she's named for). When I started this, I'd been waiting for a chance to work with an opera-singer type of character that didn't have Princess-Syndrome (though God knows I absolutely love the Princess-Syndrome XD!). Sarah Brightman's song "Arabian Nights –part 4, Hamesha" is what I wrote the performance-scene to. It's done in the Hindi language. One thing I've always enjoyed about music in foreign languages is that you have to make your own meanings/scenes/inspirations from the way the song sounds if you don't understand the lyrics.

I hope you guys enjoy this! The final bit of the introductory stuff…I'm so excited for what's coming up!

* * *

><p>Emma remained close to the shadowed areas of the club, surveying the booths on the main floor's outer rims. The round, high-backed benches were designed for groups that desired privacy—or at least as much as one could get in a nightclub. The glowing centerpieces in the middle of the table gave them island-like landmarks within the lounge.<p>

The commander wasn't relatively difficult to find—he and his friends had probably taken that booth because of its strategic position. It was close to the door and yielded a decent view of the entire floor. Emma started towards it, maneuvering through the network of tables with as much subtly as she could manage. Luck was on her side that night—what interruptions she encountered accepted her gentle disengagement with minimal fuss.

Emma wasn't surprised when the commander and the woman…Miranda, she recalled, noticed her approach a good fifteen feet away. Shepard got to his feet and extended his hand at her, a charming grin spread wide on his face.

"Hello Commander Shepard," Emma smiled, taking his proffered hand and giving it a firm shake. "I'm Emma Dunne…the waitress said you asked to see me."

"I did," he replied, gesturing chivalrously to the empty chair Garrus had previously occupied. "Thanks for coming out, she mentioned you're not always so accommodating."

"Well I figured if I didn't you and your friends would come storming into the back to say your piece anyway. Or wait outside until my shift ended," she added, finding the commander's friendly banter as contagious as his crooked smile. Emma looked at Miranda and reached out to shake the other woman's hand as well. "It's nice to meet you both. Your name is Miranda, right?"

Miranda tilted her head and raised a sharp, inquisitive eyebrow. "How did you know that, Miss Dunne?"

Emma sat down in the chair and crossed her legs. "I overheard you and the commander talking earlier this evening, at the transportation hub. I was getting a cab over here while you were hacking into one of the security nodes. Relax," she added, noticing the half-alarmed expression on the other woman's face. "You weren't talking that loudly, I just happened to be nearby and…well you never forget your training, do you?"

Miranda shook her head slowly. "No…I guess not."

"Where's your turian friend?"

"Outside," Shepard said, impressed by her directness and observation. "To make sure you didn't flee the scene before we had a chance to talk to you."

Emma threw back her head and laughed. "You certainly cover your bases, Commander. But why would I run from you?"

"I wasn't really sure what to expect," he replied without hesitation. "I wasn't given a lot of intel on you and I took precaution in case you turned out to be…shy."

She shook her head. "No, I don't think shyness is one of my hang-ups. But what can I do for you two tonight?"

Shepard unscrewed the top of the new liquor bottle and poured Emma a drink using one of the fresh glasses the asari had brought them. "Have you heard of the recent Collector attacks on human colonies?"

"Of course," Emma replied, accepting the drink with a nod of thanks and took a swallow. Bad idea…the liquor's burn wracked hell on her pipes all the way down to her stomach. She shielded her mouth and coughed. "Sorry, throat's a little sore after the show."

"Is that normal?"

"For me it is, yes. But about the Collectors…it's all over the news. Can't get a straight story from the broadcasts though, one station says you're just trying to stir up the Citadel again, others say it's the beginning of an intergalactic apocalypse. Somehow I think you've got a better view of what's really happening."

Shepard nodded as his smile faded. "The Collectors are kidnapping human colonists. We're going to go through the Omega-4 relay and put a stop to it."

Emma's eyebrows shot up. "Sounds a bit on the suicidal side…"

"It is," Miranda said, bluntly. "Our superior officer forwarded a dossier of your records to us, recommending you as a possible addition to our team."

Emma's lips parted. "Why? If you've got my files then you know I was honorably discharged from the Alliance four years ago. I didn't stick around long enough to see any real action, didn't help defend the Citadel…why the hell would you be interested in recruiting _me_?"

Shepard paused, taking a moment to observe the young woman. Her tone was filled with simple curiosity and bewilderment. He'd expected her to be defensive, to use her lack of field experience and unimpressive career as a crutch to decline the invitation. "You're a good shot," he said, gesturing to the stage with his thumb. "More than good...an excellent shot. If you've spent two years breaking shot-glasses with a fake rifle, I can't imagine what you'd be able to do with a real one in your hands and a Collector in your scope. I need the best for this mission, Miss Dunne, if we want to come out of this mess alive."

Emma folded her arms, glancing between Miranda and Shepard before speaking. "I have to ask, Commander…are you working for Cerberus now?"

"It's…complicated. Cerberus is funding the mission. I don't see what I'm doing as "working" for them. I've got a few bones to pick with the Council over what's going on, but in the mean time I can't sit back and do nothing when thousands of humans are being kidnapped for God-knows-what."

"But you work for Cerberus," Emma looked at Miranda, pointing to the black and gold crest embroidered on her jumpsuit.

"I do. I'm Commander Shepard's chief second officer."

"All in all, pretty grim shit…" Emma met Shepard's eyes, slowly rotating the half-empty shot-glass on the table.

"If you feel you're not up to the task, you don't have to accept," Miranda said, ignoring the dark look Shepard shot her. "You're certainly a…an _eccentric_ choice to say the least."

Emma drew in a steadying breath as hot aggravation flooded her veins. She was thankful her face was covered with the heavy, airbrushed stage make-up…she was certain her cheeks were bright red with ire. Although it felt infinitely better to shirk all blame and imagine Miranda was a manipulative mind reader, Emma wrestled with her temper—how could the Cerberus woman know just how sensitive to the subject of belonging, of ability and willingness she was?

"Miranda, would you please step outside and let Garrus know we've got Emma?"

Miranda bristled at the swift dismissal, wanting nothing more than to lob a biotically-charged fist at the commander's throat. The temptation to tell him to use the radio was halfway out of her mouth when her self-control finally tampered the rebellious impulse. Very well…if he wanted an undisciplined, untrained nightclub singer taking up space on the Normandy, she wouldn't say a word to object. Watching him eventually regret the choice would be salve enough for the insult.

"Commander," she said, sliding out of the booth and striding towards the front door with cold, smooth grace. Emma exhaled deeply as she watched Miranda go before slumping back in her chair.

"She has a point, Commander," she said. "As much as my pride hurts to admit it."

Shepard chuckled. "What I'm most concerned about is your opinion, not hers. Does joining up with our mission interest you at all?"

Several quiet, but not uncomfortable minutes passed as Emma and Shepard regarded each other. Eventually she pushed the layers of thick curls away from her face and huffed a short breath. "It does…even if it comes with a suicidal description. Cerberus's involvement isn't very enticing, and my mother would roll in her grave if I started working for them. But I expect she did that enough when I left the Alliance, and if you're just using them for funding I guess I can overlook it. But I'm still not convinced how much help I'll be, Commander. Four years is a long time to go without any kind of practice, and my field experience is limited."

"True. But the fact that you're open to the idea and not screaming for security to escort me out is telling."

"Well, it's hard to say no outright when a legendary Spectre comes back from the dead asks you to join his cause to save humanity," she replied. "My reluctance comes from common sense, Commander. I don't want to get in the way…I don't know how I'll react in a bad situation."

"Then I've got an idea," Shepard leaned closer to her, bracing his weight on his forearms against the table. "There're two more people in Nos Astra that I need to locate. Help me find them…we're bound to run into trouble along the way and I assume you know this city. Once we've got them you can make the decision to come with us or not. Think of it as a field test."

Emma laughed. "You drive a hard bargain, Shepard. But I suppose that's why you're in charge of this crazy mission to begin with."

"So will you come with us?"

"Yeah…yes, I'll try-out for Team Save-the-Galaxy. Could be fun," she added, and seized the liquor bottle. Not bothering with the glass, Emma fit her lips around the tiny spigot and poured a liberal dose of the bright red vodka down her throat. Shepard chuckled as she grimaced and shook off the burning. "When do I start?"

"Tonight. I've got a friend who's an information broker. She's bound to know something the next person on my list. She's an asari Justicar…name is Samara."

"Damn…all right. I'm sure I can get the rest of the week off, I'm bound to have some vacation time backed up. But I gotta go back to my apartment first…pick up my equipment and such."

Shepard nodded. "I understand. Do you know where the Exchange Terminal is? My intel broker is Liara T'Soni. She's got an office that overlooks the hub."

"I know the area. I'll be there as soon as I can," Emma got to her feet and stretched, giving the commander a wry look. "This is going to be…interesting, I think."

"I agree," Shepard switched on his omni-tool and forwarded a few more credits to the bar and the asari waitress. "I'm looking forward to working with you, Miss Dunne."

"Same here, but call me Emma. If we're going to take on the Collectors we should at least be on a name-basis."

* * *

><p>After trading omni-tool radio signals and parting ways, Emma went to speak with Angelene Sekia. The news that she would be leaving early and embarking on a risky, classified mission with a Spectre had been received rather…calmly, Emma thought. The stage manager, though baffled, didn't protest beyond a grumble about suddenly losing all her best performers. However, Angelene seemed to have understood Emma's situation without asking too many prying questions—the conversation had ended with a wish for her to be safe and take care of herself, and to let her know when she would be coming in to work next.<p>

The cab ride back to her apartment seemed to take hours longer than the usual thirty minutes. Emma felt as if she'd woken from a deep slumber, her heart drumming in her chest and her limbs tense with excitement. Her heeled shoe tapped impatiently during the elevator ride and she fumbled with her omni-tool's door code twice. She let out a triumphant yelp as she finally crossed the threshold of her apartment, and dropped her purse and omni-tool on the couch.

Storming into her bedroom, Emma fell to her knees beside the bed and shoved the shoes and clothing away from the side. Putting her cheek against the woolen carpet, she reached under her bed and cleared the space, flinging debris over her shoulder and groping through the shadows.

"There you are," she grunted as her fingertips brushed cold metal, and she closed her fingers around the handle. It took three yanks and a heave to pull the dust-covered trunk into the open, and she sneezed when a gray cloud gusted past her nose.

Emma got to her knees and laid her hands across the worn, pleather-covered surfaced. She smoothed her palms across the lid and pressed her thumbs against the brass clasps. She hadn't taken it out from beneath the bed since the day she'd put it there when she moved in, a few hours after signing a lease with Ms. Niloufar. The clasps popped open with soft clacks, and Emma held her breath as she listened to the heady creak the lid gave as she raised it.

She stared at the neat ensemble before her, the top layer consisting of a large black box with intricate silver embellishments in the corner and center, and a pile of thermal clips wedged in the remaining space. She pursed her lips, her fingers tightening around the trunk's rim.

Emma thought that any desire to be a soldier had died with her mother. Yet she couldn't imagine ignoring the opportunity Commander Shepard had presented her with that evening—if she did, she would regret it forever. His mission, suicidal as it was, presented Emma with the means to forgive herself for her undisciplined attitude and poor judgment when she'd put in for her honorable discharge. Mentors and friends had warned her repeatedly about how foolish the move was, that she would find herself lost in a dark place in a few short months.

In some aspects, they had been right—even with the iron-grip control she'd kept on her new lifestyle, her long-term future had bent itself into a dead end. She touched her throat…she loved the talent the surgery had afforded her, but the thrill of unbridled freedom and rebellion it represented had worn off long ago.

Emma rotated herself to face her bed and set the parcel on the bed. Memories of her final days at the Alliance drifted to the forefront of her mind as she peeled the lid back. Swamped in grief and chafed raw against the lifelong restrictions her mother's lifestyle had imposed on her, Emma had spent a month floundering through the days like a wounded, blind animal.

"Mom," she murmured, pushing the white tissue paper aside. Preserved within the box was a jumpsuit of the highest quality, crafted with rich, coffee-brown material and embroidered with gold and yellow. She'd ordered it in a hallex and liquor induced stupor one night, along with the rest of her trunk's contents—blowing her entire savings of ten thousand credits.

Blinking against the hot, rapid buildup of tears, Emma stood up and pulled the jumpsuit out of the box. She shook it, glad to see that despite it's time spent in the box, it hadn't wrinkled too badly. She slung it on the bed and emptied the remains of her trunk—a sheer under armor suit and black leather boots with anti-noise soles on the heels. Two black, plastic cases housed her equipment, one packed with a shield generator, medi-gel compact, and a weapon's mount that strapped to her upper back, while its twin held her belts, holsters, and two M-5 Phalanx pistols.

The final item in the trunk took up the entire bottom portion of it, half-buried with twelve-bullet ammunition clips. She would unpack that last...she would need to strip and clean it before even thinking about loading it. But the opportunity to use a _real_ rifle after two years of wielding an expensive prop was so tantalizing her fingers were already itching.

Even once the commander's business in Nos Astra was over and he decided she was unfit to join his crew, Emma was glad to have the chance to find some shred of direction for her life—Collectors or Reapers notwithstanding.

* * *

><p><em>AUTHOR'S NOTES<em>

Getting pretty close to making a decision about who Shepard's going to end up with. So far it's a three-way tie between Liara, Miranda, and Tali…all three ladies have three votes so far. Peeps, the reviews from this chapter is gonna be the final choice—so gemme your choice! Much love to you guys, will update in a few days.


	5. Unite

_AUTHOR'S NOTES _

Sorry about the INCREDIBLY long pause, people…life kinda got in the way for a bit.

Well the votes are in and have been tallied up…Miranda it is! Which is quite frankly a relief because Liara isn't in the game all that much and the Kasumi/Jacob stuff isn't going to be along for a while…and it'd be awkward if the spotlight was on Emma/Garrus the whole time. Thank you so much for your input everybody, and for those who ship M-Shep/Liara, never fear! I've started a one-shot lemon to honor that couple. Hopefully it'll be up in a couple days!

Today's recommended readings goes to ghostflowers.x "Without Consent." It's a positively FILTHY F-Shep/Garrus sexfest. Deliciously erotic and dirty…total fanfic chocolate. The other is SihaKatieKrios's "Moments of Love" a Miranda/Shepard couple. Her Shepard's not good ol' John and looks/sounds like Patrick Jane. ::le swoon::

Enjoy!

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><p><em>~ Liara T'Soni's Office, Exchange Terminal ~ <em>

"Liara, the Commander has returned."

Liara's heart turned an uncomfortable, statically-charged flip as her fingertips paused above the holographic keyboard on her desk. She deftly pushed the radio's communication button, telling Nyxeris to send Shepard in and sat back in her chair. The door's pressurized gears released and folded the circular steel plates within the wall.

"Shepard," Liara said as the commander beamed at her, his blood-red hardsuit a sharp contrast against the pale blues and violets of her office. She was surprised that despite her constricting lungs and drumming heartbeat, her smile came naturally. Then again, anything feminine seemed to fall prey to John Shepard's devious charms. Kiosk shop girls, dancers, waitresses, the late Ashely Williams…and now the Cerberus officer Miranda Lawson.

Sheer politeness compelled her to greet Miranda, who lingered a distance from the desk and feigned disinterest. Liara knew the Cerberus officer was anything but disinterested—she was most likely reporting Shepard's every word and step to the Illusive Man.

Liara had done some research on the woman that evening. Despite her dislike, Liara pitied Miranda. She was the genetically-tailored by-product of an ego maniacal politician of some sort, and it was obvious from her aggressive mannerisms and calculating, ice-gray eyes she'd known little affection growing up. Apparently she'd run away some years ago—there was a sizeable reward offered for information leading to her capture.

She gestured for Shepard to have a seat and nodded a hello to Garrus. He returned the silent greeting and wandered over to one of the windows to observe the activity on the trading floors below. A pang of sisterly protectiveness came over Liara as the lights fell across the medical graft and scarring on his face. She'd always been fond of the rigid, tenacious creature…she just wished he would allow himself to heal a bit more before throwing himself into more danger with Shepard.

Liara brought her attention back to Shepard. "It's good to see you again…I take it that locating Emma Dunne went well."

Shepard nodded. "It did. Thank-you for helping me find her, Liara."

"I'm always happy to help you, Shepard. While you were gone I did some additional research on her. She's…an interesting person. I hope she'll make a helpful addition to your mission."

"What else can you tell me about her?"

"Miss Dunne arrived in Illium almost five years ago after being discharged from the Alliance. Her mother was an Alliance captain and was killed in action trying to defend an Alliance supply ship from a batarian pirate attack… she received a fifty-thousand credit inheritance from a life insurance policy and Alliance compensation, which she largely spent on voice-enhancement surgery, a voice coach, and a dancing instructor."

Shepard nodded slowly, deeply impressed by the extensive details Liara had discovered in the span of a few hours. Concerning reconnaissance, she could probably put the Illusive Man to shame if she had his resources. "A voice-enhancement surgery?"

"Yes. In addition to all of the trading possibilities, Illium also has many types of cosmetic surgeries and cybernetic engineering. Any kind of change you'd like to make for yourself, cosmetic or otherwise, can most likely be done here. Miss Dunne had her larynx modified with cybernetics to expand her vocal range into operatic soprano levels. Think of it as a singing shortcut, like the old lipo-suction or stomach stapling procedures obese humans used to use to lose weight."

Liara watched Shepard absorb the information she'd just given him, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. As always, the commander was thoughtful, dissecting and cataloguing the facts to further examine later.

"My sources tell me she's spent two years or so working at the _Old Nouveau _nightclub. Tell me, what kind of asset do you think she'll be for your mission?"

Shepard shrugged. "I couldn't tell you much yet…but we found her shooting shot-glasses out of the air with a prop-sniper rifle. The training still seems to be there and she was upfront about her shortcomings. I'm bringing her with me to find the Justicar and Thane Krios…we'll see how it goes from there."

"That sounds like a wise choice, Shepard."

They continued to chat for ten minutes or so, trading small updates about each other's lives and reminiscing about old times, but tactfully avoiding anything in depth. Shepard could feel Miranda's sharp gaze penetrating the back of his neck, and bit back a grin. Really, irritating her was so enjoyable it bordered indecent, and it didn't help that it wasn't particularly hard to do.

As it became apparent that they would be there for a while longer, Garrus leaned his Vindicator rifle against a tall, potted plant's vase and took a seat on the cushioned windowsill bench. It was good to see Liara again, even better that she seemed to be doing well as an information broker. Much better than he had fared during Shepard's absence in Omega...although, from the handful of details she'd shared about the Shadow Broker, he gathered that she too, was motivated by revenge.

The temptation to try to dissuade Liara from that dark road was strong. She was…too good for that path in life. And yet if he did, he'd be a hypocrite—and she wouldn't hesitate to tell him so. The burning desire for Sidonis's infinite suffering was spreading within him like spilled engine oil set on fire. Every passing day it blotted out more of his thoughts and concentration, like a snake consuming a large kill.

Garrus closed his eyes, pushing away the weakening voice in his heart to let it go. It was getting easier to ignore his conscious…and concerning Sidonis, it didn't bother him one bit.

He looked over the trading floor below. Activity had slowed considerably now that the evening hours were ending and midnight was well on its way. The asari armor and weapons kiosk keeper was packing it in for the evening, and the volus she'd been talking seemed to be waddling towards the Eternity lounge doors.

A red hover-cab gusted into one of the open parking spaces on the far end of the courtyard. His visor's lens zoomed in on the opening doors in time to catch Emma Dunne practically leap out of the back seat. His mandibles twitched in amusement—there was something inexplicably cute about the way she paused to adjust her gun belts and collar. The dark-brown jumpsuit was flattering against her hair and complexion, with a plunging, scooped neckline and high-rising collar. The yellow-gold accents on it made it a sleek, feminine garment.

Garrus watched her take in the exchange terminal, her head slowly rotating as she observed the happenings around her. True to the nature of trained snipers, she seemed to record every aspect of her surroundings to herself, pinpointing possible shooting and cover locations, security weaknesses…he liked that.

Rather suddenly Emma looked up at him, as if she knew exactly where he would be. Her steady, casual step altered just a fraction, and she gave him an assessing look before continuing towards the foot of the building.

"Shepard," Garrus jerked his head towards the office door as the commander and Liara paused in their conversation. "Emma Dunne's on her way up."

* * *

><p>As she made her way across the exchange terminal's man floor, Emma had to stifle the urge to wave at the brooding turian lodged in window of what she presumed was Liara T'Soni's office. Either that or make a face at him, anything to break that hard, cold gloom that seemed to encase him like a block of ice.<p>

She knew he was watching her. Even from the considerable distance she could see the glowing blue hologram of his visor, a bright spot in his considerable silhouette. Its magnification could probably zoom so close he'd be able to count the pores on her face. Let him look, she was grateful he'd taken the trouble—he'd given her Commander Shepard's location without forcing her to radio him on her omni-tool or ask one of the locals for Liara T'Soni's office.

Emma started up the staircase that led to the building's second level chambers. She hoped the group waiting for her at the top hadn't been there too long. Luckily her equipment hadn't required much updating and maintenance, but she hadn't been able to bring herself to leave her apartment in its current ground-zero state. Not that the once-over she'd given it really put much of a dent in it, but in the off-chance they had to stop there that evening she wouldn't have expired of mortification upon opening the door.

An asari with a near-violet complexion and facial markings sat behind a sturdy desk at the top of the staircase, dutifully typing on an extended holographic keyboard. She got to her feet and smiled pleasantly at Emma as she crossed the staircase's threshold.

"Miss Emma Dunne, I presume?"

"Yes. I'm here to see Liara T'Soni and Commander Shepard."

"Go right on in," the assistant replied, her voice velvety and serene as she gestured to the circular across from her desk.

Emma nodded her thanks and stepped up to the door as the gear pressure was released. It wasn't until she found herself stepping into the spacious room beyond it that she realized she wasn't entirely certain how to present herself. She took in a steadying breath, quickly surveying the room. Having never met an information broker before, images of a small grungy, hole-in-the-wall kind of place located in the back of a dark alley came to the forefront of her mind. This was a classy place, tastefully decorated and well lit...not at all like she expected.

Miranda was lingering to her right, and nodded a polite hello to her. Emma returned the quiet greeting and glanced at the turian, who remained by the window but had redirected his focus back into the room.

On the other side of the room was a gleaming, magnificent desk where Commander Shepard was sitting with an asari that possessed the palest blue complexion Emma had ever seen. Having received no indication or hint from anyone in the room as to what to do, Emma straightened herself and saluted.

"Commander Shepard."

"At ease. There's no need for that kind of formality with us, Emma," Shepard waved her over and got to his feet, holding his hand out for a brief shake. "Thanks for coming out so quickly."

"Wasn't a hard place to find," Emma had to fight the urge to glance at the dark shape perched in the furthest edge of her peripheral vision. "You must be Liara T'Soni. I'm Emma Dunne, it's nice to meet you."

Liara smiled and shook hands with the young woman. "It's good to meet you too, Miss Dunne. You've got quite an interesting background."

"Ah, bet you had fun digging all that up," Emma grinned. "Probably wasn't hard either, not like I've bothered to hide myself these past couple years. How much did you find?"

"Most everything."

"Don't tell anybody about my little procedure, if this deal with Shepard doesn't work out no club in the civilized galaxy will want me."

Liara had to stifle a laugh, understanding why Shepard was willing to give her a chance, despite the massive disadvantage. She seemed to share a similar sense easygoing humor with Shepard, and hadn't shown up unprepared. Her jumpsuit and gear were top-of-the-line equipment, and her hair was pinned back in a loose, but serviceable knot at the top of her head. Liara glanced at Miranda. The Cerberus officer probably didn't support Shepard's decision. And truth be told, Liara wasn't entirely certain how she would feel if their places were reversed.

"Well, now that you're here we can get started," Shepard said, clapping Emma on the shoulder. "Liara, what were you able to find out about the Justicar Samara?"

Liara nodded, seating herself at her desk and bringing up the folder of information she'd retrieved. "Samara…yes, she arrived recently and registered with Tracking Officer Dara. You can find Dara at the transportation hub."

"Why would Samara have to register with a tracking officer? Is she a criminal?"

"No," Liara replied. "In fact she's just the opposite. The Justicar are an ancient sect of asari warriors. Dara can tell you more."

"Thanks for the help, Liara. That's all I needed to know for now," Shepard got to his feet and stretched, rolling his shoulder and popping the kinks out of his joints.

"Of course. By the time you return I should have enough data on Thane Krios for you, Shepard. If there's anything else I can help you with, let me know."

"I'll talk to you later, Liara."

"Be safe," she whispered, watching Miranda, Emma, and Garrus follow Shepard out of her office. Liara sucked in a deep breath and leaned back in her chair, feeling a leaden weight settle over her chest. Fate had dealt her a particularly cruel hand that day. To endure having Shepard come sailing back into her life, when her path was so far off from his…it was the stuff of daytime soap operas.

Liara pressed her palms across her face in a vain effort to stifle the hot tears welling in the corners of her eyes. It didn't matter how she felt, what they could have had together, none of it. Her life was structured around finding the Shadow Broker. And it would remain that way until one of them was dead.

Feron…it wasn't fair for her to remain pining over Shepard, not after what he'd done for her. But the feelings were sure to remain, no matter how deep she buried them, or how far she pushed them away.

Shepard paused at the base of the staircase outside Liara's office. Lingering in the semi-sheltered corner before the door that led to the transportation hubs, he turned to face the three squad members trailing behind him.

"Emma, I haven't I've introduced you to Garrus yet," he said, gesturing to his friend. "Garrus Vakarian, Emma Dunne."

"Right," Emma said, holding her hand out in a friendly gesture. "Christ, you're massive," she added, needing to crane her neck back to make eye contact with him.

"I thought women liked massive."

"We do. It wasn't a complaint at all," Emma grinned, feeling a bizarre sense of giddiness sweep over her as she felt his gloved hand wrap around hers. The feel of his talons pressing lightly against her skin through the leather sent gooseflesh crawling up her arm—it was…predacious.

Hell, Garrus Vakarian defined predacious, and wore it as if he'd invented the word. The extensive scarring on the left side of his face, the implications of a powerful physique beneath the heavy, cobalt blue hardsuit…his entire being spoke of battles and military history. But his eyes were the most striking feature: sharp, chips of blue-hazel ice in a sea of black, set deep in his face and making the layered plates of scale and flesh appear mask-like.

Shepard bit back the playful jabs that came to mind as he observed his friend and newly acquired squad mate. Their handshake had lasted a second longer than it should have, and both were openly staring at each other. Not in a lustful kind of way but…definitely interested, at least on Emma's behalf. He wondered if Garrus realized she'd more or less just hit on him—his friend had never really reciprocated the interest of the occasional woman that showed it.

"Shepard," Emma said, focusing her attention on him. "If you're not familiar with this section of Illium, the transportation hub isn't far from here, a ten minute walk, tops."

"That's good to know. Miranda, I'd like you to go back to the Normandy. See if you can make contact with your connections here, we'll set up a meeting to handle your sister's matter as soon as we get Samara."

Miranda nodded. "Commander. I'll see you all back on the ship. I wish you luck finding the Justicar."

Emma wasn't blind to the cool look the Cerberus officer sent her way as she passed. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Miranda's lackadaisical attitude towards her was eerily reminiscent of her mother. Four years may have atrophied Emma's skills as a fighter, but not a lifetime of cultivating defenses against disinterest and cold shoulders.

"Right, let's get going. Lead the way, Emma," Shepard said, gesturing towards the circular steel door that led to the transportation hub.

Emma nodded and moved closer to the glowing green hologram in its center, activating its motion detectors. Much to her relief her steps were solid and unwavering, although she missed the sound of artful clicking her non-combat boots made against the tile floor. The sound was empowering, like chocolate and mozzarella sticks. But the weight of her rifle strapped to her back had a similar effect, and within seconds, had melted the icy dread and insecurity lingering in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

><p>AUTHOR'S NOTES<p>

All right, can I get a big fat cheer because the introductory BS is now FINALLY over. PHEW woof, for those of you who've stuck with me this long, my deepest thanks! :)


	6. Story Swapping

AUTHOR'S NOTES

Hello everybody! I apologize for the long drag between the last chapter, I certainly didn't mean to let this much time pass. There's been some rather exciting changes in my life, I finally got an internship and other job opportunities seem to be pouring in.

I also spat out some naughty Garrus/Emma fanart...so to see into the future of this fic without giving away too much, here is a link to the painting I did. :) Be warned, its most definitely R rated...sexual content and whatnot. ...I'm having some trouble inserting the damn link tho. So you guys will get it in pieces. You put the htt part, followed by and the next tidbit.

.com/gallery/12219341#/d4msucz

And today's reading recommendation goes the mind-numbingly beautiful epic 'Delirium Trigger' by Solain Rhyo. Clearly this author is a professional, showcased by her enviable number of reviews and masterful way of expressing the Mass Effect universe.

Enjoy the latest installment of the story guys, and let me know what you think!

* * *

><p>The walk back to the transportation hub was spent in silence. Shepard and Garrus trailed behind Emma, passing clusters of Nos Astra inhabitants, shop kiosks, and a handful of pressurized doors. The activity taking place on the wide, open courtyard hadn't changed since their last visit to it earlier that evening.<p>

"Popular place, huh?" Shepard commented.

Emma glanced over her shoulder. "It's a pretty common area to stop. All the buildings over there are housing complexes, while this one's used for general business. Convenient spot to pick up cabs. The police kiosk is over there."

Shepard looked in the direction she'd nodded her head towards. Off to the side was a cubicle-like area that was enclosed by a transparent screen, with a neon-blue sign above the station that read "POLICE." Beneath it was a white tile desk that wrapped itself into an open rectangle. On the surfaces were holo-screens, several data-pad racks, and a simple coffee machine that was surrounded by a handful of abandoned mugs and filter boxes.

The woman that was presumably Officer Dara turned out to be an asari with a pale blue and violet complexion. Dressed in a black and white uniform, she was sitting at one of the computer terminals, her fingertips flying over her console's keyboard. The pages of the extra-net she was surfing reflected on the holoscreen in a shuffling fan, hinting at the asari's superior mental processing abilities.

Emma glanced at Shepard, her gaze silently asking if she should get the tracking officer's attention. He shook his head and stepped forward, smiling pleasantly at the asari. "Excuse me, Officer Dara?"

Unconcerned that a perfect stranger knew her name, the tracking officer glanced up from her computer screen. "Can I help you with something?"

"I'm looking for an asari warrior named Samara."

Apparently, the Justicar was a source of concern for Dara. She was on her feet a second later, voicing a worry that Samara had killed someone and asking Shepard why he was so interested in her.

Emma followed Garrus's lead and quietly lingered a few paces away with him, listening to the conversation between the commander and tracking officer. Justicar Samara's appearance on Illium wasn't quite welcome, despite her revered status in asari society. Emma was, once again, impressed by the commander's ability to casually draw information out during the course of a conversation. He could probably make even the most seasoned reporter envious.

Emma was intrigued by what Dara had to say about Samara. Despite living in close proximity of several asari since her arrival in Nos Astra, she'd never learned many details about the Justicar, other than they were incredibly rare and formidable upholders of the law. Both alone were good reasons for the commander to recruit one for his mission...especially as Dara described the incredible power Samara wielded.

Emma folded her hands behind her back and glanced at Garrus, giving him a smile. He returned it...or, at least she thought he did. The mandibles on his face opened a bit, and the outer ridges of his wide mouth seemed to curve upwards.

It always took Garrus a second or two to recall that when human mouths drew upwards in the way Emma's had, it was a sign of friendliness. The showing of teeth in his own culture was one of aggression and warned of an impending attack. But he supposed it was a tolerable thing...after all, human teeth were blunt and not particularly intimidating.

"Samara went to the commercial space port a few hours ago. If you want to get there, the pedestal on that balcony will summon a cab. Just be polite when you meet her. Justicars embody our highest laws and they usually stay in asari space. She's not used to dealing with aliens."

Shepard nodded. "Thanks for your help."

"Best of luck to you..."

Garrus and Emma followed Shepard across the transportation floor and down a handful of steps to the hover-car dock. Emma used her omni-tool to put in a request for an expedited, pilot-free cab, waving off Shepard as he tried to transfer credits.

"Don't worry about it, I'm on a customer loyalty program with one of the cab companies and have a couple freebies," she grinned as they stood back to wait for the taxi.

"Do you know how far the commercial space port is from here?"

"About forty minutes in the usual night traffic."

"All right. Hopefully Samara will be close when we get there."

"Cab's here," Garrus said, heading towards a red hover-cab that had just dropped into a vacant parking spot nearby. Shepard and Emma followed Garrus to its side as he heaved the wide passenger-cabin door open.

"Ladies first."

Emma smirked at Garrus, swatting his hand as he mockingly bowed his head and gestured at the worn leather seats within the hover-car. He chuckled and watched her carefully slide into the front passenger seat of the taxi, spotting a tiny flash of yellow as she passed. A pair of bird's wings, identical to the design and placement of the tattoos on her back, were embroidered on her jumpsuit and cheekily glimpsed out from behind the weapon and shield mount on her back.

Shepard climbed in after Emma and took the pilot's chair, his fingers deftly pressing and shifting controls as Garrus jumped into the wide back seat and pulled the door closed.

"Do you know how to get there, Emma, or should I activate the navigation system?"

"Better use the navigation equipment, I've only been out to the commercial space port a few times, and never actually to it." Emma leaned forward and detached the gleaming black and white rifle from her back and propped it between her legs, taking care that the safety was on and the barrels were compacted.

Satisfied with the pilot and navigation system settings, Shepard guided the hover craft away from the balcony dock and brought it towards a stream of ongoing traffic beyond the building.

Emma had no qualms about handling the radio, and left it on a station that was playing a cool, tribal-like orchestral piece.

"You guys ever see the movie "Vaenia?" There's a really great water cavern scene that was filmed at the aqua gardens downtown. I think this track's called "Blue Azure"...totally fits."

"Haven't gotten much of a chance to see any movies lately..." Shepard replied with a dry tone that made Garrus chuckle in the back seat.

"Now that you're back from the dead you've got some catching up to do, Shepard."

"Is Vaenia any good?"

"It's not bad, lots of violence, sex, and special effects, all the stuff you humans like in your entertainment."

Emma shifted in her chair, bringing one of her legs up beneath her and folding an arm over the back of her seat so she could more easily converse with her companions. She raised a sardonic eyebrow at Garrus. "Are turian movies lacking in violence and sex?"

"Of course not. Ours are just easier to tell which ones are porn and gore with a budget."

Emma threw her head back and laughed. "That's because you guys keep such stiff, stiff upper lips," she replied, jutting her jaw forward and lowering eyebrows in a mocking expression of military discipline. "Or so I heard..."

"What else have you heard?"

"That turians tend to view pleasure with a lot of suspicion."

"She has you nailed, Garrus..." Shepard smirked at his friend's reflection in the rear view mirror. "How did you live here for four years and not meet any turians?"

Emma shrugged. "Most of my friends are human or asari. Didn't see a lot of turians in the _Old Nouveau _and it can be hard to meet people in this city."

"So why are you called the Nightingale? That was the name you were referred to in the dossier I received, and your stage name at the club we found you in."

She smiled wryly at the commander. "It's...kind of silly, to be honest. It's what my squadmates in basic named me." Her lips formed into a small, tight O and she drew in a breath. When she released it, the taxi's cabin was filled with high pitched, musical chirping. "It's a useless talent...but it came in handy once, when the radio was out and I needed to signal the team leader. After that, my codename became Nightingale, and it stuck. Plus, they are such cute little birds..."

Garrus had to smother a scoff. He'd once seen a cage full of the tiny creatures stashed in the warehouse of a merc group his team had shut down on Omega. Apparently they were mostly extinct on earth, and some wealthy humans liked to keep them as pets. To him, they looked more like snacks than an decoration for a home.

"Now let me ask you one, Commander. Did you really die two years ago? Or is that just some publicity stunt on the Citadel? And why did you leave the Alliance?"

Emma could tell she'd struck something of a nerve. The jovial, relaxed atmosphere in the hover-cab turned quiet and a little tense. "Sorry...I guess it really doesn't matter."

"No, it's all right," Shepard replied after absently brushing his fingers over the warm, subtly glowing scars running across his cheek. "Just a long story."

"We've got...thirty-three minutes..."

"So we do..."

* * *

><p>The commander spent twenty eight minutes recounting the story, beginning with a brief description of the Citadel battle and following it with what he could remember of his last encounter with the Collectors. Emma wasn't surprised he refrained from going into specifics of the intense bits, like the moments he thought had been his last drifting into space and waking up on a Cerberus surgical table. He explained what he knew of his reconstruction and apparent resurrection, and the mission into the Omega-4 relay as well.<p>

Emma was glad that the conversation didn't require anything beyond an occasional nod or affirmative noise, because if she was required to make intelligible comments in return, she'd look like a fool. The commander's story about the Collectors and Reapers was alarming to be sure...she knew that following Shepard beyond Nos Astra would require some honest soul searching before the commitment, and unshakable resolve afterward.

What concerned Emma far more imminently, whether she followed Shepard or not, was the news that Cerberus had discovered a way to conquer death. If the Commander Shepard that sat beside her truly was the original man brought back to life, and not an ultra advanced droid or a clone...how quickly would that sort of technology develop and be distributed? Emma could only imagine the religious and secular controversies that would emerge if that information was ever leaked to the public, never mind the political implications at the Citadel. It was the kind of technology capable of starting wars...

When Emma asked if he felt any different than before, Shepard told her he didn't, and that emotions, sensations, personality traits, and memories all seemed to be in tact. She was privately skeptical, but didn't pursue the subject, feeling it probably wasn't tactful to inquire further only a few hours after they'd met.

Upon approaching the commercial space port, Shepard followed the navigation system's instructions to leave the main flow of traffic and piloted the hover-car towards the main platform on the building, a considerable giant by Illium's lofty standards. Connected to both sides of the wide-sweeping balcony were platforms for transportation vehicles to park, but lazy pilots had created a jumble that made adding their own to the mess impossible. Instead, Shepard simply created his own parking by lowering the hover-car to a place close to the railing on the east side.

The three climbed out of the vehicle and took a moment to survey the area. The police station's reception courtyard was wide, with only a few occupants of varying races. Most were armed and guarding crates of something or other, while a handful looked over the skyline as they took calls or chatted amongst each other. There was a trio that stood out from the rest-a volus accompanied by two armed turians.

Shepard gestured for Garrus and Emma to stay put before calling out to the volus and beginning a swift approach. Emma's first instinct was to hurry forward as the turian bodyguards noted the commander's presence and released the safety triggers on their assault rifles.

"Easy, Shepard can handle himself."

Emma hadn't realized her hand had gone to her side and nearly brought out one of her M-5 Phalanx pistols. Garrus had stopped her, placing a gloved hand over hers and exerting enough pressure to break the grip her nerves had wrought over her. It wasn't until that moment that Emma realized how jumpy she felt, like a newly minted private on a mission that didn't involve guarding the supplies. Feeling embarrassed, she slowly released a breath and forced herself to relax.

"Sorry," she muttered. "It's been a while...guess I'm a little tense."

"I'm sure you'll get a chance to shoot something within the hour," he replied with a chuckle. "Shepard might flirt with suicide five times a day, but he knows what he's doing and there's never a boring moment."

Emma looked up at Garrus, grinning. "You've known him a long time, haven't you?"

Garrus shrugged. "Three, maybe four years, including the two he was at Cerberus."

"Were you...were you there when he died?"

"No."

Emma understood immediately that it was a subject he didn't wish to talk about. And she couldn't blame him either. It wasn't hard to see that Garrus and Shepard had the close kind friendship that two war-hardened soldiers forged by surviving near-death experiences together. She supposed that having a friend like that die in battle without you, then reappear some years later, would involve some shock, regret, and other hurt feelings men always preferred to sweep under the rug.

Garrus was relieved when she didn't inquire further. He understood her curiosity, and appreciated her directness, but his limited experience with females outside his own race was that many could be coy, obscuring their motivations and drawing information from seemingly harmless topics. A potentially deadly species, human women...

He couldn't deny that he had his own curiosities about her. He hadn't seen the dossier the Elusive Man had sent to Shepard, but the information Liara had shared with them in her office was enough for him to piece together that her mother's death had triggered a rebellious period. He could certainly understand that, having an eerily similar history with his own parental complications. But what exactly had she done during her term in the Alliance that had attracted the Elusive Man's notice? Or was it her activities since coming to Nos Astra that piqued Cerberus's interest?

"How long were you in the Alliance?"

It was her turn to stiffen uncomfortably. But she replied gamely after a second's hesitation, with a resigned, matter of fact tone that led Garrus to believe she shared Miranda's skepticism about her compatibility for joining the mission.

"Three years total, if you count the two years of basic. I was part of a platoon whose mission dockets were sure to harden us up for the more advanced training programs for espionage. I went on a handful of classified missions...mostly reconnaissance or intercepting pirates, even one or two assassinations. It was a decent job, and being the kid of an Alliance starship captain, I didn't mind the danger."

Garrus wanted to ask what had changed, but the commander had finished his conversation with the volus and was walking back towards them. Besides, he hardly had a right to, seeing as he wasn't so forthcoming in answering her questions. At the very least, she had enough training to hold her own in finding the Justicar.

"Did you find out anything about Samara, Commander?" Emma asked without skipping a beat.

Shepard grinned wryly. "That volus over there had a few things to say. An Eclipse group killed his business partner last night and he thinks they'll be after him next. Samara showed up yesterday...she hasn't actually done anything yet, but she's got everyone on edge. Right now she's down that blocked off ally investigating the crime scene...we'll go talk to the police officer about letting us through."

"Why would a Justicar be interested in a volus's problems?" Garrus asked.

Shepard shrugged. "I asked the same. Pitne For just said that if a Justicar smells corruption they start shooting."

"Guess that means he and his business partner were doing something shady...not that it's surprising," Emma scoffed.

"Oh?" Shepard asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

Emma shrugged, a slightly twisted expression fleeting across her face as she folded her arms. "For starters, it's Illium. Everybody who's selling or trading here skirts the law to varying degrees, you know that. For second...I haven't had the best experiences with volus. Never met one who was trustworthy enough to do any kind of business with. I know that's a bit racist but..."

Shepard clapped Emma on the shoulder as he turned towards the police station, shaking his head and flashing her a charming smile. "Not at all. I'm not all that partial to them myself."

* * *

><p>AUTHOR'S NOTES<p>

Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. It was a tricky one to write because I don't have the time, energy, or patience to scribble out the canon stuff I'm not changing. Not to mention I doubt you'd want to read all of that anyway.

A quick thanks to torexile and an an anonymous reviewer who took the time to point out some canon-mistakes I made in previous chapters. Aside from Miranda's eye color...I personally like to think of them as gray...I'll be doubling back to fix those shortly. :)

See you soon!


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